by K. C. Lannon
Kallista frowned. “Not for much longer, if you keep her waiting. Time may be frivolous to you, but the child barely has time left.”
Marko handed the infant to Puck. Kallista watched Puck closely, as if he were going to devour her instantly.
“My sincere thanks! I’m starved.”
Kallista’s jaw dropped. Before she could lunge at the creature with her fists raised, Puck burst into a fit of giggles. “Don’t look so grim, my lady! I’m not going to eat her. I just enjoy a good jest, and furthermore…” He looked down at Alvey, who gave a weak cough, stroking her hair with one long finger as he continued, “Her parents have been friends to the Court. Whether they meant to or not…”
Kallista looked down. Marko spared her by speaking up quickly. “Where is the faery child?”
“Ah, yes! I suppose we shan’t forget her.” Puck crouched down on the ground and reached behind him, where a small, red-haired babe was asleep on his back, tied there gently with a large leaf and some kind of twine. He did not touch the child’s skin once as he held her out for Kallista to take. She did so.
“Her name is Deirdre,” Puck said. “All her mother knew was sorrow upon her birth, and thus she chose that name. That is all this child, or you, will know of her origins. That is all she needs.”
Kallista studied the child but found nothing in her soft face that gave her away as Fae. She looked human. She tucked the child against her protectively. “She will be taken care of.”
Puck nodded, smiling again. He tucked Alvey into the same makeshift carrier on his back. “The Summer Court thanks you for your service.” And with that, Puck seemingly vanished into the muggy spring air, leaving behind only unanswered questions and a baby.
Kallista smelled the smoke and saw it billowing in a plume into the night sky before she reached the city.
Outside of the hospital, the Iron Wardens lined up outside along with the fire department, keeping everyone back, guiding people out on stretchers and in wheelchairs and beds.
Marko pulled away, tires squealing, before anyone saw them. Several body bags were visible on the pavement.
“What are you doing?”
“We can’t get in there now. We will find someplace for the baby in the meantime until we know what happened.” Marko’s voice was steady, though his fingers were trembling on the steering wheel.
Kallista shook her head, as if trying to shake a troubling thought from her mind.
After a minute of silence, Marko asked, “Where can Deirdre stay tonight?”
Kallista stared down at the baby. Of course the child must stay with her. It seemed like the logical answer until she remembered exactly what the child was. Her eyes widened in alarm at the thought. “I can’t take her home, Marko. If Alan found out that she’s a faery…”
“Say no more.” Marko grunted. “I’ll take her for the night. We can figure something else out tomorrow until we can get her to her new home.”
“What kind of home would that be?” Kallista asked. Handing over the child to the Windsor couple had made sense at least; one of the parents was Fae. She couldn’t imagine a human family raising a faery.
“I could ask around. See if anyone in Ferriers Town is willing to take her in.”
Kallista made a face, unnerved by the suggestion. The child looked so human.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We cannot be certain if a faery took her in that it would be for the right reasons.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“If she could perhaps be raised in a human environment, with a strong religious influence…” She might turn out fine. Before the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. It would be wrong to force the child to hide who she was.
“I could take her,” Marko suggested, though he sounded hesitant. He must have known that it would not be possible or ideal even if he did want to take her in.
Kallista smiled warmly at him. “We’ll think of something.”
Marko drove quietly to the military housing, which was up a steep, walled hill where the city became more suburban, and parked in front of a small, plain home that was tucked between many identical houses. He came around and opened the door for her. Kallista carefully laid the child in the seat before saying good night and then watched him drive away in silence.
As she unlocked the door, crept inside, and removed her shoes in favor of her slippers, it occurred to her that she was out past curfew. She felt a bit like a rebellious teenager, which had been not too long ago. When the lights flipped on, she let out a yelp of surprise.
“I radioed the hospital, and no one could find you.” Alan was standing in his pajamas, holding their sleeping son in one arm. Her husband’s mousy brown hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his ruddy, boyish features were hardened with concern.
“I… I’m sorry—” She could hardly get the words out before he closed the gap between them and kissed her deeply, his hands sliding under her head, twisting in her hair. Her arms fell loosely to her sides, her worries forgotten for a brief moment. She pulled back, breathless.
Kallista’s eyes softened on Iain, whose head was resting against his father’s chest, oblivious to the commotion. Nearly a year old and he had a full head of thick, wavy dark hair. His small, dark, olive-toned hand was gripping the collar of Alan’s nightshirt.
“Marko offered to drive me home after my shift, but we, uh, got stuck in traffic. I’m sorry to have worried you.”
Alan didn’t reply, seeming to accept her excuse.
Kallista reached out and stroked her son’s face. “What are you doing with Iain?”
“Neither of us can sleep when you’re not here, I suppose.”
Kallista sighed. “What happened at the hospital?”
After delivering Iain to his crib, Kallista and Alan both walked into the tiny living room. Alan plopped down on the couch with a groan and ran a hand over his face. “It was the Dearg-dues. Burning their victims is their trademark.”
“The mob?” Kallista gaped.
“There is no need to fret, love. The Iron Guard received an anonymous tip beforehand. Several mob members were shot on sight when they were caught leaving the building. Justice will be done.” She did not hear the satisfaction of justice in his voice. “But not before they took the lives of some very influential people.”
“Who were they—the victims?”
“Oliver and Aino Windsor.”
Kallista was grateful to be sitting down, as the room began to sway in her vision. Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she was grateful for the dim lightning to hide them. “Oh,” she exhaled shakily.
She searched the room for anything to focus on. Her eyes landed on the mantle and to the mess of broken glass under it. She sat up. The glass caught the light, winking at her.
“Don’t.” Alan grabbed her arm as she moved to inspect the glass. “You’ll cut yourself.”
“Your photographs,” Kallista said. “What happened?” The mantle that once held portraits of Alan’s family was now empty, the frames shattered on the floor. “Don’t tell me Iain is getting into mischief already. I thought we at least had another year or so before the terror started.” Her laugh died in her throat when Alan did not respond.
“I’ll clean it up in the morning,” Alan said.
Kallista was going to question him further but stopped when he leaned his head against her shoulder. She sighed, responding by wrapping her arm around him.
The room was quiet, save for the clock ticking away on the wall and the slow rhythmic breathing of the two of them.
“I don’t want to lose this.” Alan spoke up suddenly, his voice muffled against her shirt. He sounded so distant from her.
Kallista held him tighter, refusing to let him slip away, refusing to let him close up like he usually did. “Lose what, my love?”
Alan did not speak.
“You won’t. You won’t lose this, or anything. We’re here. We’re both here. I’m not going anywhere.” So
metimes she felt like her words went unheard. He was scarred, like many who fled to the city from the Cataclysm. They were all afraid of the same thing happening again.
She held Alan until Iain woke them both by fussing in his crib. That night, Kallista found no sleep, only images of flames, charred bodies, and an orphaned infant burning behind her eyes. She knew that what she saw tonight would leave her scarred too.
It almost felt like a betrayal, taking a faery child to the orphanage several hours from the city. But that was exactly what Kallista did the very next morning. She and Marko had discussed options for several hours, eventually coming to the same conclusion: no single family, no matter how hard they might look, could be guaranteed to be the right match for a faery child. They knew that Trinity orphanage was equipped to handle any sort of child, and they knew it was a nicely kept and well-staffed facility.
Marko snorted as they drove along the gravel road to the building.
“What could possibly be amusing to you right now?” Kallista asked, irritated. She was holding the child tightly in her arms like she did not want to let go.
“What could be funny about a faery at Trinity?” Marko smiled.
Kallista sighed. She didn’t think it was very amusing. At least her husband would probably never discover the child was there at all.
It felt like a second betrayal, just leaving the babe on the doorstep, but she could not risk getting caught with a strange child.
Before she left, Kallista made sure the sleeping girl was wrapped warmly and snugly. She left a note by the door with only the child’s name scrawled there.
She gave the soft head one last, gentle stroke. “I wish you luck, Deirdre. May God go with you.”
Chapter Two
“Come on, Louise, get up.” Deirdre nudged the sleeping girl again. Her usually willing playmate grumbled and turned over in bed.
She ran around to the other side of the girl’s bed and prodded her arm. “We’re going out to play.”
“Says who?” the girl mumbled, not opening her eyes. “It’s dark. I’m tired.”
“But you said you’d go out to play tonight! Louise?”
The four-year-old girl only let out a light snore in response.
After moping for a moment, Deirdre stood up straight, her determination renewed. She said she was going outside to play tonight, and so she would.
She padded on bare feet, clothed only in her nightgown, over to the open window, surrounded by beds full of other young girls. Outside, purple dusk had not yet turned into the black night. The heavy curtains on the nursery window were drawn back, the shutters open, hoping to coax in a nonexistent breeze. With the windowsill too high to reach, Deirdre instead shimmied up the thick curtains and leaped out the window and onto the waiting ground a short drop below.
The fragrant scents of a hot summer night were all around her, in the grass, in the air. She skipped happily across the lawn, heading toward her favorite playing spot behind a small line of trees.
“Deirdre!”
The girl froze as a tall Icelandic nun, Mother Superior, headed across the lawn toward her.
“Get back inside this instant!” She steered Deirdre back across the lawn. “How did you even get outside, child?”
“I climbed,” Deirdre muttered, her head lowered.
“That was a very foolish thing to do. Wandering alone is not safe.”
“You were out here alone.”
“I was finishing my rounds, checking for little runaways like you.” Mother Superior pinched her cheek; every girl hated when she did that, and she knew it. It was an effective, quick form of punishment.
Mother rushed Deirdre back to the nursery, all the while reminding her of the rules of the orphanage. As she was tucked in again, Mother forbade her from “being reckless.” And after she left, Deirdre immediately sat up to see if the window had been shut. It had, and she sniffed in disappointment, slowly lowering herself back onto her pillow.
Classes began a few weeks later as summer turned into autumn. Picture books, alphabet games, and crafting paper did little to tempt her eyes from the windows and the world outside. And when the girls were allowed to play, she was the first to jump up and sprint out of the room, laughing as she ran. The outdoors meant play, and play was what she lived for.
And woe betide any child who broke a rule while playing with her. Once while the supervising Sister (Sister Teresa, a young Indian woman) was occupied, a classmate named Adelaide ran instead of stopping during freeze tag. Immediately Deirdre turned red in the face and bellowed at her to freeze where she was, her deep little-girl voice completely losing its sweetness and softness. Adelaide froze, unmoving save for her sniffling nose and quivering chin. Smiling, Deirdre turned away, feeling that all was well.
The long days of early childhood passed, each hour wonderful, full with play and growth, food and learning, playmates and affection from the Sisters. Her mind latched onto a new feeling each minute and then promptly cast it to the winds in favor of whatever came next. Even as she became aware of what being an “orphan” meant, it did little to dampen her fervor. When the thought disturbed her, she decided that her parents must have died. There was no other reason why she could have wound up at the orphanage.
As she reached her seventh year, she showed no sign of growing out of the innate and stubborn sense of fairness that young children possessed; rule breaking or lying was not to be tolerated.
Once she had to apologize for calling Adelaide a stupid liar when the girl boasted that her father was King Eadred and that she was a princess.
“My father could be someone important,” Adelaide had pressed later that day, looking down her nose at Deirdre.
“But you don’t know,” Deirdre protested. “None of us know our parents! And saying you do is lying.”
“When I find mine, they’ll be important and rich,” Adelaide persisted. “I’m just here because of an accident, like in the faery tales. I bet they’re looking for me right now.”
“If you’re here, your parents are dead, Adelaide!” Deirdre nearly shrieked, her fists balled. “All our parents are dead forever! They aren’t looking for us!”
When Adelaide began to cry, Deirdre felt tears springing to her eyes as well. One of the Sisters came in to see what the fuss was about and found both girls sitting on the ground and sobbing their hearts out.
One wet, muddy day she was playing with Charlotte, a girl in her class who had agreed to sneak out during study time and play hide-and-seek. As Charlotte hid her face behind her fingers and began to count to thirty, Deirdre turned to run, only to glance back and see the other girl watching her through splayed fingers.
“Don’t watch me!” Deirdre shouted. “Cover your eyes!”
Charlotte covered her eyes for one second, only to peer through again with a grin.
“You have to cover your eyes!” Deirdre pointed at Charlotte. “It’s the rule!”
“I am covering my eyes,” Charlotte answered, lowering her hands, her eyes wide open.
“You are not!”
The other girl laughed. “Why are you so mad?”
“You’re not following the rules! And if you don’t follow them, we can’t play.”
“You don’t always have to follow them,” said Charlotte, sniffing haughtily. “That’s what Felicity says. If you had a sister, you’d know better too.”
“Felicity is stupid,” Deirdre shot back maturely.
Charlotte scowled at her. “It’s your fault for not having a sister! Don’t be mad just because you don’t have any family!”
In response, Deirdre slapped Charlotte. Hard.
Crying, Charlotte ran to Felicity, who was around eleven years old. Deirdre was known as a weirdo among the older girls and not in a cute way. Earlier that year, she had been caught raising a bunch of tadpoles with the sole intent of eating them when they grew big enough. Plus she had begun to barge into and win the older girls’ games, especially races. She was not a humble winner.
“How dare you slap my sister!” Felicity hissed. She pinched Deirdre on the forearm, twisting fiercely.
“She was being mean.” Deirdre sniffed, smacking Felicity’s hand away and glaring stubbornly at the older girl. “And you’re all a bunch of fat, stinky bullies!”
When the girls grabbed her and dove into the nearest room, hauling her toward the wardrobe, Deirdre did not cry for help. Her vision red with anger, she fought: kicking, punching, pulling hair, even biting. But the girls still threw her into the wardrobe, full of heavy, old coats, and locked her in. Deirdre heard them fussing over their injuries and muttering about how she was a little animal; that did not bother her, but the sound of the door shutting behind them did.
Screaming in outrage, she threw herself wildly against the wardrobe door, the long coats covering her face. With each bodily hurl, she got more tangled in the coats’ sleeves that wrapped around her limbs and around her head. She froze when her face was covered, and she realized she could not breathe.
Her mind going blank in panic, she struggled and twisted; as the seconds passed, her lungs began to scream for air. When she tried to blindly run forward, her wet, muddy shoes slipped on the wardrobe’s floor. She fell forward onto her face, the sleeves releasing her.
After taking several deep breaths, she rolled over onto her back. The long ends of the garments still brushed her legs and forehead. Staying as low as she could, she scooted over to the wardrobe door, pressing herself against it. The only light came through the keyhole.
“Hello?” she called shakily.
No one answered, and she began to cry. She called again and again until her throat went sore. She curled into a ball, finally giving up.
I’m going to be here forever, she thought, her body going cold. I don’t have a sister to come find me, or a mother or father. No one is going to come. She cried harder.
